The Marriage Maker. Christie Ridgway

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      CHRISTIE RIDGWAY

      Native Californian Christie Ridgway started reading and writing romances in middle school. It wasn’t until she was the wife of her college sweetheart and the mother of two small sons that she submitted her work for publication. Many contemporary romances later, she is the happiest when telling her stories despite the splash of kids in the pool, the mass of cups and plates in the kitchen, and the many commitments she makes in the world beyond her desk.

      Besides loving the men in her life and her dream-come-true job, she continues her longtime love affair with reading and is never without a stack of books. You can find out more about Christie or contact her at her website, www.christieridgway.com.

      To my editor, Lynda Curnyn.

       Thanks for everything.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Prologue

      Never in her life had Cleo Kincaid Monroe schemed to get a kiss.

      “But there’s a first time for everything,” she muttered to herself as she moved around the spacious kitchen of the Big Sky Bed & Break fast.

      “Did you say something?” The deep voice of Ethan Redford, her evening’s date, came from the direction of the small den off the kitchen.

      “Say something? Not me. Uh-uh. Nothing.” And nothing was exactly what had happened between Cleo and Ethan. Not tonight when he’d taken her to dinner at the White horn Country Club, not last week when he’d flown her in a private plane for lunch in Bozeman, not all the times they’d run into each other at the B and B where he was staying and where she lived with her mother and sister.

      Cleo scooped coffee into an unbleached filter, vowing to change that nothing to something, to a kiss, because for the three weeks since Ethan had arrived in White horn, Montana, she hadn’t been able to think of anything but kissing him.

      Aware that it was after midnight, she dumped another generous scoop of grounds into the filter and clicked on the coffeemaker. Drowsiness wasn’t going to get in the way of this kiss, either, by gosh.

      Another woman might have thought Ethan didn’t want to kiss her, but Cleo figured it had more to do with all the interruptions that came with living at the family business. Why, after their Bozeman lunch they’d stood in this very kitchen and she’d actually seen the kiss in his eyes, even felt his warm breath rush across her mouth as he leaned toward her. But then her sister Jasmine and their mother had bustled in, wanting every detail of Cleo’s first-ever private plane ride.

      She could have killed them.

      But tonight, ah, tonight the B and B was blissfully quiet. Ethan was their only guest right now—early February not being the high tourist season in Montana—and Jasmine went to bed early. Cleo cast a glance down the hall that led to the family’s bedrooms and didn’t see a light under her mother’s door, either. That was good, too. Celeste hadn’t been sleeping well lately and maybe she was finally getting a chance to catch up on her rest.

      Cleo loaded a tray with the coffee carafe, mugs, cream, sugar and spoons, then took one bracing breath before stepping into the den.

      And there he was.

      Her stomach gave that funny little hiccup it always did when she looked at Ethan. There wasn’t much call for elegant dark business suits, white shirts and ties in Montana, but Ethan wore them with the ease most of the men she knew wore down jackets and cowboy boots.

      He’d thrown his suit jacket over the rocking chair in the corner, rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. Cleo’s tummy hiccuped again. Who’d have thought “corporate rumple” could look СКАЧАТЬ